Sandy Jorgenson

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Two years ago, I had a two-year-old daughter who’d never met her grandfather.

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

Anybody who has lived through those early days of parenthood (and let’s be totally forthright, here… those seasoned parents, too) knows e

I didn’t start out as a particularly easygoing person.

Whether this is news to you, seemingly irrelevant to you, or deeply personal to your experience, this truth remains that statistically speaking, one in every four pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Some of you are vaguely familiar with this, many of you have suffered this loss yourselves, and the likelihood is high that almost all of you know someone who’s lost a child in utero, whether or not they’ve ever spoken publicl about it.

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You’d have a hell of a time if you ever dared to crawl through the recesses of a first-time mother’s brain.

This article is the second in a two-part series.

The night I discovered that tumor on her back was essentially just like any other.